The Duke chuckled, not the least taken aback. “Lords don’t generally sail, or so my old tutor used to say. It is ‘Your Grace,’ but I’d just as lief be Captain Kingman to you, Major Tomlinson, or just plain Roger. I get enough ‘your gracing’ from the servants.”
“And daren’t ask them to leave off lest they get above themselves, I’ll warrant. Speaking of servants, do you still have that batman that traveled with you? What was his name, Herbert, wasn’t it?”
“You have an amazing memory, sir. Yes, Herbert is still with me, acting as my valet and keeping me sane. I have no idea what I would do without him. But what brings you here, Major? You are a welcome sight, but I don’t think you just came to pay your respects.”
Major Tomlinson sighed. “Sadly, no. I have a problem and no way to investigate it.”
“I will help if I can, Major. What seems to be the trouble?”
“Well, you see, Captain, we have had just a few too many ships disappearing along the channel. You can expect a wreck or two in bad weather, but of late seems like there has been a rash of them.”
“I have had little occasion to sail since I came home. I’m at a loss as to how I might be able to help.”
“You will not have to set foot on a deck, sir, to be of help. In fact, that you’ve sold your commission and come up in the world, as they say, works to my advantage, if you are willing.”
“I’m game as a pebble, Major, but you are going to have to speak a little more plainly.”
“It is this new assurance company, Captain. Or at least I think it is, but I need proof. It seems that most ships make it across the channel just fine, but those insured by Lloyd’s have recently failed to reach port. Lloyd’s is fit to be tied and are backing this investigation strongly.”
“Do you not have Bow Street involved?”
“Oh, aye, but they have their limits. Nine tenths of those lads, estimable as they are, sprinkle their speech with so many cant phrases they’d never pass amongst the gentry. And that is what I need.”
“You suspect that someone among the peerage is involved?”
“That I do, but prove it? I’d be hard pressed to do it. I need someone who can travel in those circles to keep his ear to the ground and flush out the culprit.”
“Do you have any lead at all, sir?” Roger asked. “For much as I would like to help, I have run myself aground financially and must take steps to mend my fortunes.”
The major twisted the ends of his mustache and thought for a moment. “Well, I do, but I’d rather not say just yet. As for fortunes, I have some operating capital. I can offer you some of that, to tide you over. Lloyd’s has lost a fair bit of money on this, and the senior partners are beside themselves with outrage. So, they are supporting investigation as well as offering a fine reward to any who can solve this conundrum.”
Roger looked thoughtful. “Tempting, but the reward is not really the kind of money I would prefer to claim. I might take you up on the operating capital, however, for I would like to lend my assistance to you.”
“I thought you might say as much,” Major Tomlinson said. “Let me sweeten the deal for you a little. I’d like to reinstate you as part of the diplomatic corps. It is not a huge stipend, but if a man invested wisely, it could bring him about nicely.” The major winked at Roger.”
Roger frowned. “I am not well-versed in diplomacy, but I’ll own a bit of income would not go amiss.”
“Never does. And you need not be much of a diplomat, just visit members of the ton, talk with them and report back. Let me decide if it is important.”
Roger nodded and shook hands with Major Tomlinson. “I’ll do it. I have a line on a potential investment, given that I have something to invest. Thank you, old friend, you give me hope.”
And perhaps a way to win a lady fair, to say nothing of an able business partner if Bochil will allow me an interest in his venture...
Chapter 10
“I will not have it!” Cottleroy roared, completely oblivious to the door open to the street and the frightened faces of the servants. “I arrange for you to be courted by a gentleman with both title and wealth, and you go jauntering about with a jackanape who has in two years run through his family fortune.”
Dahlia flinched back from her father’s rage. “Father! What are you saying? I went to the market with my brother to buy ribbons and lace.”
“Do not try to gull me, girl. You were seen riding in a curricle with Shelthom. That is one very fast young man, and you would do well to steer clear of him, title or no title.”
“Yes, I rode in the curricle. I wasn’t dressed for riding, and we wanted to go to Hyde Park, which is farther away than Green Park, but closer to the open-air market. Duke Shelthom kindly consented to convey me thither. There was nothing further in it.”
“You mind how you answer me, Dahlia. I have never raised a finger to any of my daughters, but I will have you caned if that is what it takes to keep you safe.”
“Keep me safe!” Dahlia could hold her voice no longer. “Father, do you realize that I interrupted the man you have selected to court me as he was in the act of beating little Tommy, the bootblack? And that if Aaron had not stepped out into the hall, he was prepared to harm me as well?”
“I was told of the incident. You were skulking about the halls dressed no better than a serving woman. What do you expect? How many times have I told you to stay out of the kitchen and keep to above stairs? Goldstone took you for one of the maids.”
“Oh, did he? And that would have made it right for him to harm me? Was it not you, Father, who told me to beware of a man who abuses his horses and hounds? What about a man who abuses his serving staff? What do you suppose he might do to a woman who is given into his keeping?”
“You go too far, Dahlia Lovell! I have given my consent for him to pay his addresses to you, and you will make yourself available.”
“He can address me all he wants, Father, but I will not consent to be joined to him.”
“Go to your room, girl, get out of my sight before I forget myself.”
“I will gladly go, Father.” Dahlia fled up the broad staircase into the upper hall, scarcely able to see the steps because her eyes were blinded by tears of rage and betrayal. She focused her vision on her feet, and as she neared the top of the stairs, she saw a scrap of white on the floor. Father would turn off any maid so careless as to leave paper on the floor, especially in his current mood. She scooped the crumpled scrap up in her hand.
She became aware of Lord Goldstone walking down the hall. She opened her door, fled within, and slammed it behind her. She did not feel secure until she had turned the heavy, skeleton key in the lock.
Some moments later, a key rattled in the door, and then it opened. Dahlia rose, prepared to be confronted by her father, but it was only Miss Emma. The governess came in, closed and locked the door behind her.
“Lady Dahlia, my dear, are you, all right?”
“Oh, Miss Emma! Whatever shall I do?” Dahlia burst into tears again, sitting back down at the dressing table.
“Oh, my dear, you are in a corner and that is for sure. But you must have a care for your reputation.”
“Oh? Do you know something that I do not? Do, pray tell, Miss Emma. I am all ears.”
“Well,” said Miss Emma, gently cautioning her charge, “You need to be careful with whom you are seen riding. The cook’s niece has it that the young Duke has sold off part of his horses to pay his debts, having run aground as it were this summer. She heard it from an under footman who has a cousin that is employed in the Duke’s household.”
“Miss Emma! Are you listening to the below-stairs gossip again?”
“And where else should I glean such interesting on dits?”
“Perhaps from the newspaper?” Dahlia tried to regain her composure.
“Ah, but my dear, news by paper travels slowly compared to servants’ gossip. Never ignore the little people, for although they have it wrong as often as they hav
e it right, they frequently know such tidbits as to whether the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker are paid.”
“But did that trio not ‘turn out to be knaves all three?’” Dahlia teased.
“Oh, in the old rhyme they certainly did. But you can often tell a gentleman of true quality by the size of his unpaid bill to his tailor. Now, let me look at that arm. Is it badly bruised?”
“It does not pain me.” Dahlia turned back her sleeve. The arm showed purple finger prints quite plainly.
“I have brought you a lotion,” Miss Emma suggested. “Your father has said that you are to be locked in to think upon your situation. I’ll say nothing of the key that I know you have, but please be circumspect.”
“Thank you, Miss Emma. That means a great deal to me. I know that my father would turn you off without a reference if he thought that you were helping me.”
“Don’t you worry as to that, my Lady,” Miss Emma smiled tenderly at the girl. “I have brought the essay you wrote the other day and a book to amuse you.”
“Perhaps I shall earn a pound or two from my writing. Then I’ll not need to worry about my father but will be able to run away and live in a garret.” Dahlia accepted the bundle of paper and the book. “Mrs. Shelley’s new tour book!” she said with delight, her woes momentarily forgotten.
“I hope it will help you while away the hours,” Miss Emma said. “Enjoy the book, but do not put too much faith in earning your way as an authoress. Mrs. Shelley had a sad time of it before she was wed, and she now has a husband who is considered to be quite radical and more than a little financially imprudent. Furthermore, if you were to publish that paper, your father would lock you in a tower and feed you through the keyhole.”
Dahlia burst into hysterical giggles. “Surely not through the keyhole! I should think that only soup could survive such a passage, and how should I catch it?”
“You think well on that, my dearest Lady. Child,” Miss Emma went on, “I grieve for your situation. While I applaud your desire for freedom, I will tell you that few ladies of quality are so fortunate as to attain it.”
Dahlia looked down at the book and bundle in her hands. “So well do I know it. My father is disappointed that the season ended, and I had not accepted a fiancée. Now, he has fixed on Lord Goldstone as a favored suitor in spite of my distaste for the man.”
“You are very fortunate that he has conceded to your wishes for so long,” Miss Emma said. “There are not many fathers with three daughters who would have allowed you to have your way for four seasons.”
“I know. And he has said as much. But, oh, Miss Emma, are there no young men of good breeding who have fortune and address? Must I wed a man who fills me with terror?”
“Well, my dear, you could always take Orders, but I do not think that you are emotionally suited for a religious vocation.”
“Oh, my, no! I fear I should tell the Abbess or whoever was in charge what I thought of the rooms or the provender. How did you ever endure it?”
“Truly, it was not difficult,” Miss Emma reminisced. “But I was only a novice. Then we were forced to flee, and I was fortunate enough to find a position looking after the four of you. I do not find myself hardly used, my Lady.”
“I suppose I should not, either,” Dahlia said. “Were he more amiable, I might not. Even so, I cannot but think that there should be more to life than looking pretty, embroidering tapestry, and producing babies – especially with such a man as Lord Goldstone. My gray mare could do as much and with greater choice.”
“Surely, my Lady, she does not embroider? Such a talented steed you do have.”
“Oh, Miss Emma. You know what I mean.”
“I do, dear one.” Miss Emma lightly touched the girl’s shoulder. “But I must go to your sisters now. You know I wish for you everything that is good.”
“I know, Miss Emma. Thank you for telling me about the Duke. But he is comely, do you not agree?”
Miss Emma laughed. “Oh, my Lady Dahlia, that I do. He is a fine figure of a man, and perhaps not as bird-witted as some. But he is encumbered with debt, to which your father will take exception.”
With that, the governess went away, leaving Dahlia to copy the essay over which she had labored. The topic was “The Rape of the Sabine Women.” It drew heavily on information gleaned from her brother’s textbooks, and the subject was not one deemed proper for a young lady. In it, she equated the practice of presenting young women at court – with the hope of contracting a “suitable” marriage – with the forced marriage of the Sabines to the Romans. She pointed out the often-disastrous results of political marriages – Elinore of Aquitaine and Henry the Second – to say nothing of the hazards of being married to such royal persons as Henry the Eighth.
At this point she paused. Perhaps that was pressing the issue. It was certainly disrespectful, perhaps even treasonous?
No, surely something that occurred 200 years before and is a matter of historical record cannot be such.
She went on writing, pointing out the one Queen of England was a virgin and had held her power by not marrying at all. There! That should satisfy.
“Perhaps I should go into Orders,” she said aloud.
“Oh, Lady Dahlia! You cannot be thinking of such a thing!” Suzanne entered with a tea tray. “Miss Emma said to tell you that you will need to dress for dinner tomorrow night and that your father’s directive was that you should look especially fine.”
“I suppose that means he intends to present yet another suitor.” Dahlia sighed. “Or to insist that I listen to Lord Goldstone.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Lady Dahlia. I’m just delivering the message. I’ve brought your tea so that you don’t need to go to bed hungry tonight.” Suzanne carefully set the tea tray on one corner of the table and prepared to tidy the papers away.
“I will take care of those, Suzanne,” Dahlia said, firmly corking her inkpot. “Just have a care not to spill anything on them. I have just finished copying them out.”
Suzanne respectfully waited until Dahlia set the drying leaves on the edge of her bed and stacked the finished pages on her pillow.
Dahlia then turned her attention to the hearty tea which included a savory egg tart, a plate of scones, clotted cream and a stout little pot of East India tea, as well as a nice tray of sliced cheese, the edge of which was decorated with apple slices. Suzanne had also thoughtfully brought a can of warmed water so that Dahlia could wash the ink from her fingers before dining.
Dahlia found that she was exceedingly hungry after her emotionally trying day and devoured the tart and scones with excellent appetite, then hid the cheese and apple slices while Suzanne was laying out her nightdress.
With heavy heart, she listened to the turn of the key in the lock as Suzanne took the tray and tea pot away with her. Gratefully, she felt the key in her pocket. Miss Emma could have – probably should have insisted on taking it away with her. It would go hard with the governess if her father discovered the deception.
She thought about the sad and terrifying spot she was in and sat down with the little book Miss Emma left for her to read in her lap.
She traced the embossed title with her fingers. “History of a Six Weeks Tour”, she read, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley and Percy Bysshe Shelley, and she began to hatch a plan.
What if I write a book and I make a fortune from it? Then I can pay off Duke Shelthom’s debts. He will be so grateful to me, we will wed, and we will take the Tour which will put me beyond my father’s reach.
For a few moments she lost herself in a pleasant day dream where she and the Duke of Shelthom would collect a small fortune from her beautifully copied manuscript and ride away to Scotland. Then they would sail to the continent and live happily ever after.
But then her pretty air castle came crashing down with the weight of reality, and tears puddled on the little bound volume, but not on the freshly copied pages. No one would pay a fortune for a school girl essay. She was trapped. S
he had finally met a man she could like and perhaps even love. But he was mired in debt and she was doomed to marry a cruel man simply because he had both title and fortune.
She put her head down and wept. At length, she rose, washed her face and collected the little manuscript stacking it carefully on her writing desk.
Then she got into her night gown, blew out the candle and lay staring up into the darkness. She turned restlessly on her side, and as she did so something rustled under her ear.
It was the piece of paper she had picked up in the hallway. Sitting up, she re-lit the candle by her bedside and examined the crumpled scrap.
One corner was torn away, and a large muddy print gave credence to Aaron’s excuse that his hound had been chewing on Lord Goldstone’s boots. Teeth holes pierced it, and some of the ink had run.
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